


You're gonna wish you were Jared, 19 after reading this (or just some drabbles idk)

by Kirjava3456airbender



Category: 6 Underground (2019)
Genre: (also no proofreading ig), Angst, Aromantic Character, Descent into Madness, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grief, How Do I Tag, M/M, Multi, OT7, Overuse of italics, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, Will Tag as Necessary, maybe fluff?, no beta we die like men, overuse of parenthesis, under-negotiated relationships, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirjava3456airbender/pseuds/Kirjava3456airbender
Summary: I took three shots of blue curacao and thought, you know what this tiny-ass fandom needs? Another one of those drabble dumps. So yeah, drabbles, mostly four and Six centric for now.Feel free to request anything, i literally have no creativity anymore lmao
Relationships: Everyone/Everyone, Five | Amelia & Four | Billy (6 Underground), Four | Billy/Six (6 Underground), Seven | Blaine/Four | Billy/Six (6 Underground)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 57





	1. About wings (Four/Six)

**Author's Note:**

> Uh a smol drabble that feels more like a bunch of sentences strung together  
> it deals with a bit of religious turmoil so maybe skip if that makes you uncomfy!  
> (Also, most of the hc for Six's backstory are from the king of my heart @carbonmonoxidepoisoning, the only hc that's mine is that Six was raised religious)
> 
> ((also also, if you know me from discord you've already read this oop))

The first thing Antonio thinks when he meets Four is in italian and roughly thanslates to:  
‘Oh my G-d, he’s so hot.’

The second is more a feeling than a thought, hot shame high in his throat (“Sorry Lord…”)

The third is that the brit looks impossibly like he had always pictured angels in his head, blond and chiseled, in the marble statue kind of way. (Later, he notices all the little ways he _doesn’t_ look like an angel, the peeling sunburn on his skin, and the sharpness of too much teeth in kisses. But that’s much, much later.)

“Nice to meet you, _Six_ ” And Antonio feels his knees go a little weak, but he’s not anything if not fearless so he mirrors the blond’s smirk and extends a hand. Four’s fingers are rough and callused in his hand.

“Right back at ya, Four.” 

Four’s eyes glint.

Six settles into the group quickly, he learns how to antagonize Two just enough to get in a good laugh without her shooting him, he learns to ply Three with half a bottle of Tequila and two pounds of ground beef to get some good-ass tacos and he learns to paint Five’s nails and avoid her hand when she’s about to slap him over the head for saying something stupid. The only two people he can’t seem to get the hang of are One and Four. One doesn’t care to engage any of them, and Four is friendly enough but strangely intimidating, there’s tension between them and even One notices. (“I don’t know what your deal with Four is but either fight it off or fuck it off, I don’t need complications in my team.” Antonio blushes violently.)

He’s barely a couple inches taller than Antonio but he feels like a cathedral, unattainable and endless. Antonio wants to sink to his knees before him, worship him, instead he clutches his mother’s rosary, that he keeps in his pocket and prays every morning (“I’m sorry G-d, for these sinful thoughts…”) He lights candles and covers his fingers with burning hot wax (and sometimes, he cries at night).

And Four looks at him like he wants to _Eat_ him, swallow him up and lick the bones clean.

Antonio doesn’t actually exchange more than a few words with Four until Four invites him to the roof of the hotel they’re staying at in their first mission in Sicily.

“Hey, _Six_ , wanna come with?” And maybe it’s the way he says his not-name, like he’s summoning a demon, that makes it so he can’t say no. They climb the stairs to the roof and Six can’t help but stare at the muscles in Four’s arms, in this position he can’t afford to slip a hand into his pocket to reach for his mother’s rosary.

The hotel is bougie as fuck and as tall as they come and the sky is nothing but blue, blue, blue and white whisps of barely there clouds.

“It’s nice, innit?” And yeah, it’s nice, but not nearly as nice as the unabashed grin on Four’s face, who’s staring at him expectantly.

“Y-yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I brought a few things to entertain us too, we gotta get to know each other better, _Six_.” By a few things Four means a couple bottles of Honey Jack Daniels that he probably stole from Five and two liters of Smirnoff. Antonio’s fingers are itching to grab the worn beads in his pocket, instead he reaches for the vodka and Four smiles, something dangerous in his eyes. Surprisingly, Four is a lightweight and Antonio struggles to catch up in terms of drunkenness, as they drink through the sunset and well into the night.

“So, why don’t… Why don’t you like me, Sixie? You never spend time with me!” And here, with the stars so close and Four slumped against him, pouting and a warm giddy feeling stretching from his toes to the crown of his head, Antonio doesn’t feel afraid, or guilty.

“I actually really like you, Four. I like you too much, I think.” Four looks up at him, the confusion twisting his features so sincere, Antonio can’t help but giggle.

“What do you mean?”

“It means you’re real pretty, Four. And that I want to kiss you.” Four’s face is so close, Tonio can see the nearly invisible freckles on the bridge of his nose, the redness of his cheekbones, flushed with alcohol and sunlight.

“Then do it.” It sounds like a challenge.

“Okay.” Antonio doesn’t move but his eyelids droop and he sighs softly when Four surges forward and kisses him hard. There’s nothing chaste about Four, not his body or his demeanor and least of all his kisses. But there’s something reverent about them, Four kisses like he’s taking communion, like he wants to swallow up Antonio with a single bite and then kiss it better. 

Four breaks the kiss giggling and they stay silent for a long time, pressed up against each other. When Antonio gets up to walk up to the edge of the building, Four follows and nearly steps off, the toes of his shoes hanging off the skyscraper.

“Whatchu doing, Six?” He says his name different this time, awfully soft. As the night wind buffets their hair, Tonio thinks that Four would suit wings perfectly.

“Just getting rid of something.”

“Anything important?”

From this distance, Antonio can’t see or hear anything but he likes to imagine that the rosary breaks into a million pieces when it reaches the floor. Dust to dust or something like that.

“Not really.”


	2. Truth or dare (Four/Six/Seven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is largely un-edited and a bit nsfw because this quarantine thing has got me fucked up  
> Four/Six/Seven

Four, Six and Blaine are the only ones left after their little ghost party, Five having left hours earlier because of a headache and Two and Three having gone off to fuck in one of their rooms about thirty minutes ago. One, of course, has never felt any interest in joining their little gatherings.

The music is loud, something electronic that’s not particularly to Blaine’s taste but feels good as it vibrates through his bones. He’s lying down on the cold floor, hugging a half full bottle of tamarind vodka close to his chest. It tastes like battery acid but it’s got him feeling like he’s floating and the floor is rolling in waves underneath him. 

He’s almost falling asleep when a hand shakes his shoulder and he opens his eyes to find Six’s face staring down at him, sporting his usual easy smile, his gorgeous eyes forming half-moons.

“Hey, do you wanna play truth or dare with us?” Normally Blaine would say no, it’s pretty childish and not Blaine’s idea of fun but when he lifts himself into a half-sitting position both Six and Four look so excited and Blaine is so smitten with these two people. And of course they’re both in a relationship, _with each other_ , because of course.

“Sure.”  
It starts silly enough, Four has to lick the floor, Blaine has to take a shot of fish oil and Six ends up admitting he’s worn women’s underwear when Four asks him what’s the most embarassing thing he’s ever worn. (Blaine’s doesn’t say how insanely hot that is,but Four seemingly has it covered it with the way he kisses Six after that.)

Then Four is tasked with doing a headstand for a full minute (which he can do no matter how drunk he is, thank you very much) and Six dares Blaine to do a lap dance for Four and it’s goofy and everyone’s choking on their laughter.

And then Four dares Six to strip off one article of clothing and if it was Blaine he would have taken off a shoe and be done with it, but Six takes off his shirt and Blaine’s mouth goes _dry_ , in his periphery Four is whooping and cat-calling his boyfriend but Blaine can only stare at Six’s perfect body, delicate lines and taut muscle, almost dancer like.

The room suddenly feels way too small for the three of them.

He knows he’s supposed to ask Four next but instead it’s Six who asks him.

“Seven, truth or dare.”

“Uh, truth?” He’s not quite sure what’s going on but he can’t help but go along with them.

“Do you like Four?” If Blaine had been drinking something he would have done a spit-take but instead he settles on choking on his own spit.

“Uh yeah, of course, he’s a good teammate.”

“You know what I mean, Seven.” And he does, of course he does, he’s spent countless nights thinking about them.

“Yeah, yeah I like, I like both of you actually.” Surely, he’s drunker than he thought because he had told himself he would _never_ admit it. And g-d, Four straight up beams at that and Six is looking at him with something like hunger in his expression. He’s about to ask Four ifhe wants truth or dare but Six speaks first.

“I dare you to kiss Four .” He’s never heard Six sound like this, it sounds like more of an order than a dare, there’s a cold coil of something like nerves in Blaine’s stomach, thrilled yet anxious. And Four looks eager and so gorgeous, blushing and biting his lip in a way that makes Blaine’s brain short circuit.

“Come here, baby.” The pet name slips out of his mouth and Blaine flushes but neither Six nor Four seem to mind, instead Six has smug satisfaction written all over his face and Blaine suddenly has a lapful of blond brit on his thighs. He’d like to say he’s never noticed how green Four’s eyes are but he’s spent hours admiring the couple, he could probably paint them from memory. Maybe not paint, though he’s never been the artistic type and whoa-

when did Four get so close?

Suddenly, he has Four’s muscular arms around his neck, their chests flushed together and their noses bumping against each other.

“Well,” Four’s voice is low, almost inaudible, “you heard the man, kiss me.” But Blaine still doesn’t move. “Please? I’ve been wanting this for so long.” And that does it, the unease is gone, replaced by something spicy and smoldering. Blaine closes the gap between them.

Four tastes like smoke and those sour jello shots that Five loves and Blaine is so hard it hurts. He pulls Four closer by the waist and the blond moans against his lips. 

Kissing Four feels like drowning.

He’s barely aware of Six moving towards them until he’s got the driver’s breath against his ear,

“He likes it rougher.” And g-d that’s so fucking hot, Blaine feels like he’s combusting, like his blood’s turned into fire in his veins.

He tangles his fingers in Four’s hair and he _pulls_ and the blond moans high in his throat.

Blaine thinks that he has never kissed anyone like this, all biting and tongue, barely any lips, they gasp into each other’s mouths, Four is pliant, rocking on his lap.

Abruptly, he’s no longer kissing Four but Blaine barely has any time to feel the loss before there’s a hand turning his jaw to the side and another pair of lips on his mouth.

Six kisses like he drives, going all-in and frantic in the best way possible, both hands cupping Blaine’s face. Six tastes like expensive Brandy and more tongue than anything else.  
And Four’s still there, straddling him and pressing their dicks together, kissing everywhere he can, Blaine’s arms, under his ear, licking a stripe up his neck.

Blaine has never felt heat like this before.

They break apart for a moment to breathe and Blaine takes the other two in, Six panting and smiling hard and Four practically melted into a pile of goo between them, cheeks rosy and hips moving almost on their own accord.

He thinks he could get used to this.


	3. Fear (Gen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this probably doesn't really count as a drabble, more like ramblings with no structure whatsoever  
> tw: suicidal thoughts and metaphorical violence ig

“hey, are you scared?” it’s kind of creepy, how they all constantly ask him the same stupid-ass question in some kind of weird telepathic connexion, like, what do they even expect as an answer? Any answer feels wrong, inconclusive.

No, I’m not scared (And One saw right through that one, of course he’s fucking scared.)  
Yes, I’m scared (but a simple yes isn’t enough to contain the sheer terror he feels constantly, his veins thrumming with fear, like live-wires under his skin)

Maybe that’s why they keep asking, they sniff out the fear like a pack of dogs and that makes sense, that he reeks of it.  
He's always scared, heart racing like a hummingbird's.

The others don’t quite get it, they think he’s scared of dying, of the goons that constantly chase them or the bullets that come a little too close. Of plummeting to his death because of a miscalculated jump.

But he’s not, he’s not, he's not, he's-  
He’s scared of how much he wants that.

Walking the edge of a building is a thrill that he can never seem to explain, he likes to stand on a single foot and let the other hang in the air. If he wanted to, he could let himself fall so easily.

And fall

And fal

And fa

And f

And 

An

A

And die before he knows it, fly for a moment and disappear before he reaches the ground.

Sometimes he feels so uncomfortable in his own skin he wishes he could peel it off, in thin ribbons of flesh, bleed out. Or grind himself into a pomade and crush his bones into stardust until there’s nothing but a stain where he used to stand.

His hands feel constantly numb and wrong like his bones had been replaced by another’s (and what if those bones had a mind of their own and decided to just _let go_ one day?). 

“You should take care of these hands, Four” Five says time and time again, tired of patching up knuckles and palms. “They’re what’s keeping you alive.” So how does he explain that sometimes he wants to chop them off because they’re not _his_ and he can’t trust them, she’d think he’s going crazy (he’s not? Is he?)

So yeah, he’s scared of how willingly he would throw himself into death if it meant feeling alive for only a second, but he can’t possibly explain the enormity of it, how it swallows him up like water, coils around his muscles like smoke and _tightens_

“Are you scared?”

So he stays quiet now, or says whatever it is they want to hear, honesty clawing at his throat stuck to his tongue and teeth.


	4. Soulmate au (OT7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does this even make sense? idek

To be honest, no matter how many times Seven insists on sharing their original names, Four doesn’t mind being named that.

Four.

It’s not like Billy was his original name or anything.

He’s cycled through hundreds of names, so many he only remembers a few. In the beginning, names weren’t even a thing, they were just _them_ , and that was enough.

The seven of them, at the center of the universe.

(Four remembers Galileo, he remembers how the scientist said the sun didn’t revolve around the earth. And Galileo was right but also wrong, the universe doesn't revolve around the earth, the universe has always revolved around _them_.)

They don’t remember him, of course they don’t, and Four has no idea what higher power fucked up with him but there’s something broken inside him, gaping and raw, a window accidentally left open. It’s not like he remembers them from the beginning either, at every rebirth he truly believes himself a new person, Jacques, Tomen, Daniel, _Billy_.  
But then, he sees one of them and his mind splits open and it feels like the world has cracked into two and the memories _rush_ into him leaving him gasping and reeling.

Inevitably, every time he sees one of them he remembers every single life they have lived.

One’s dark, haunted eyes bring him back to Europe and swordfights, the slope of Five’s nose brings him back to spilled blood and wars upon wars and the calluses of Seven’s fingers remind him of kisses all around the world.

And everytime he loves them like it’s the first time. Their love is as old as time itself and yet it never feels anything less than new and shiny. Something fluttery and bright in his throat.

But it’s also a lonely kind of love.

In every lifetime , he’s the only one that remembers. It’s a lonely task, to be the one that has to wait for them to fall for each other. He, who has a lived a thousand times and kissed the same lips a million times, knows them inside and out, like the palm of his hand.  
(except his hands are different every time, different eyes, different faces, there’s only _them_ that are eternal.)

They fight and they make up, and then they _hurt_ and sometimes they destroy each other, but they always put each other back together, licking the wounds all better. And he waits.

In some lifetimes it takes only a few days, but most times it takes a long time for seven people to fall in love with other. And he waits.

Sometimes it doesn’t even happen, they stay mad at each other for too long until they die and he realizes he’s waited for too long. But he doesn’t know how not to wait, how to stop feeling like an outsider when he knows them so well, when he's seen them fight and fall for the same reasons, again and again. So he waits and when they work it out and actually fall in love, it’s better than he remembered.

Two’s fingers tangling in his hair, Three kissing every inch of skin of his body until he’s all black and blue, Six holding him at night when he feels like he's coming undone and the only thing he can do is sob until he falls asleep

Some lifetimes, remembering is the hardest thing he has done, when he has to watch them hate each other and hurt each other or come apart.

But when they work, they _glow_.

He’s the only one that sees the constellation they form, all seven of them, a single heartbeat.  
Again, and again, they keep finding each other and when they all come together, slotting into each other where they belong, he’s happy to remember, to be able to witness them in all their glory.

But _this_.

This has never happened.

He watches them in the kitchen, as they dance around each other, send each other electric looks and touch each other fleetingly.

And for the first time since the beginning of _them_ (the big bang, the beginning of the universe, whatever you want to call it).

He hates them.

Because Six is dead, and seven is the perfect number but six is a rotten, _ugly_ number, a twisted version of themselves, an incomplete puzzle and he hates them for not seeing the emptiness, the glaring, blinding hole that Six left. In every life, it's been seven or none, every life except this one apparently and that hurts like nothing he's ever felt before, he who has died a thousand times.

Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t fault them, after all, they don’t _know_ , he’s the only one who has ever known. But as he steps away from the kitchen, the taste of bile in his throat and the memory of Six’s blinding smile at the forefront of his mind, he doesn’t know if he can forgive this betrayal.

Forgive, because no matter how much he wishes he could, there’s the cursed inability to forget.

For the first time in millennia, he wonders if hate is stronger than love.


	5. like a fork shoved on a spoon (four/six, Four & Five)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Queerplatonic Relationships, overuse of parenthesis, Grief, Aromantic Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I don't know why I'm still writing 6u fic in august, thanks for asking. Beware, this is sappy af.
> 
> Fun game you can play: guess how much of this shit is just me projecting lmao

Four has gone through loss more times than he can count, he knows grief like an old lover, but nothing could have prepared him for Six’s death.

Somewhere in his mind there’s a voice telling him that he barely even knew Six, that he shouldn’t be this heartbroken over his death (that he doesn’t deserve to be). But he’s too overcome with emotion to even pay attention to any rational thoughts, there’s only the _hurt_ in his chest.

He should have asked his name.

Sometimes it feels like they barely knew each other, he wonders where Six was from, what his parents were like, if he had a lot of friends when he was a kid. He wonders how old he was when he lost his first tooth, if he grew up believing in santa and how many people he dated before him. There are huge empty pools in his memory of Six’s life and whatever existed between them feels like a pale imitation of a relationship.

And then he thinks about Six’s cute snores when he slept (and isn’t that gross? how at some point everything about Six, even his snoring, had become cute), the three moles on the crook of his elbow and his voice when he told him every single one of his dreams.

(“okay but you can’t laugh at me! I want a small house, somewhere in the countryside, a couple of big dogs.” “And what about driving? You can’t drive luxury cars on dirt roads in the countryside.” “We’ll just have to visit the rest of the group on weekends. We’ll stash a bunch of sexy-ass cars in One’s garage and pretend we want to catch up when actually we’ll just drive around the city, as fast as possible.” “We?” “Always.” “You’re a sap.” “So are you, don’t pretend you don’t buy me my favorite chocolate every time you go get groceries with Five.” 

And so on.)

He smiles a little, maybe he knew Six better than anyone.

Still, the memories are more bitter than sweet and he’s vaguely aware that he’s constantly at the edge of breaking into pieces. He thinks of Six at every waking moment and it’s _Stupid_ , he knows that thinking of Six won’t bring him back, he’s only breaking his heart again and again. They didn’t tell the other ghosts that they were doing… whatever it is they were doing but it must be pretty obvious that he’s not taking Six’s death well because they start encouraging him to go clubbing, they tell him to go sleep with someone pretty and have fun. The thought of it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

He wonders if it’s healthy, that the thought of romance or even casual sex coils a tight ball of anxiety and hurt inside him. Probably not, but he doesn’t really care. 

Their beds are singles and his used to be way too small for both of them, they used to wake up sweaty and gross, limbs tangled up, noses bumping against each other’s. Four misses the crick he used to get in his neck, the soreness of his shoulder, having to wash his sheets so much more often. He misses the uncomfortable moments of being with Six, wishes he could find that closeness again with someone. But cuddling inevitably becomes kissing and laying in bed is always an invitation to sex for most people and he doesn’t want it, not anymore.

So he stops sleeping. It’s gradual, he starts waking up gasping for breath and reaching for someone that’s no longer there, until he eventually doesn’t try to sleep anymore, relying on passing out from exhaustion to get the rest he needs. (Five keeps watching him, she’s worried, but he pretends he doesn’t notice it.)

And then there’s Rovach and a shit ton of explosions and Seven and holy shit, there’s names too. And he’s _so_ tired through it all but the adrenaline gets him through it until it doesn’t. He nearly dies, not once but two times, because he’s sluggish and so much more slow than usual (and in between the desperation and his own pleading for One to save him, there’s that thought, ‘would it be so bad if it did end right now? If you finally joined Six?’).

And then it’s over. It feels almost like a dream, like he blinked and they changed the fate of an entire country and if not for the constant reminder of his broken arm he probably wouldn’t believe it. Oh, there’s that too, the broken arm.

It leaves him restless, makes it harder to exercise his body into a stupor, his days start bleeding into one another as his mind turns smoky and hazy with exhaustion. He barricades himself into his room and listens to bad music and he doesn’t cry but he constantly feels the prickling of tears in the back of his eyes. In the future he’ll wonder what would have been of him without Amelia.

She gives him two weeks in his semi-depressed state (okay, they both know there’s nothing ‘semi’ about his depression, but he can’t get diagnosed, dead men don’t talk, much less go to therapy) before she drags him out of his room and forces him to take his mind off his self-pity. 

At first he clings to his annoyance and whines through the chores she assigns to him. If it had been him, he would have given up on himself a long time ago (or punched himself out of sheer annoyance) but Amelia has the patience of a Saint, unless it pertains to One, and she doesn’t listen to his complaining. And it works. In part it’s the chores, giving him something to do, tiring him out and making him think about literally anything else than Six, but mostly it’s the company. Amelia is nice, funny and a terrible cook, she keeps muttering under her breath in spanish but there’s a sparkle in her eyes that tells him it’s nothing awful. Her laugh sounds like sunlight. 

He still doesn’t sleep easily but that’s almost alright and it only gets bad when she leaves with the rest of the ghosts and he feels his breath hitch with worry and what if she ends up like _him_? Sometimes she runs a thumb under his eyes, where the skin is nearly bruised with lack of sleep but it’s okay because she only looks at him with worry, never pity. 

(“If you ever need help with sleeping you know where to find me, okay?”)

He never wanted to take her up on that offer, and she probably meant pills or something like that but he’s just so tired of being tired. When he finally knocks on her door one night he feels like a little kid who’s just had a nightmare, must look like it too because she doesn’t even ask what he needs, just grabs him by the wrist and pulls him into her bed. It’s just as uncomfortable as it used to be with Six, but different, she’s smaller in his arms and she presses her face into the crook of his neck. For the first time in months, he dreams.

Slowly but surely, Amelia knits herself into his life, carves out a space in his heart for her freckles and her decent singing voice, the way she has a hundred different ways of calling him an idiot in spanish, with so much fondness in her voice it nearly hurts. Sometimes he wonders if he’s using her as a rebound, it makes sense after all, that he would be. But it never feels like he’s trying to replace Six with her, she’s different. Whatever it is they have together, it’s nothing like what he felt with Six, for one it’s not romantic, he made sure to clear that up with her, the thought of romance with someone else still kind of makes him want to barf.

(“...So I guess what I’m saying is that if you want something romantic, I don’t think I can do it.” “Billy?” “Yeah?” “I’m aromantic.” “Oh.” “Yeah, oh.”)

And it’s good. _They’re_ good together. Even on days when he can feel grief like a weight on his chest, on days when the ghosts of their pasts haunt them, they press close to each other and the comfort is just enough. With time, their dreams tangle into each other’s and the future doesn’t feel so bleak and if they weren’t supposed to be dead, Four thinks that maybe he would have asked her to marry him.

(“We should get a loft somewhere, a pent-house with big windows overlooking a big city with lots of neon lights.” “You’ve got a thing for neon, huh?” “I just think it’s neat! Also a cat or two, big fluffy cats, the kind that purr a little too loud.” “You know what? I think I’d really like a cat.”)

The realization that he loves her is startling but not in a bad way, he feels warm and _fond_ when he looks at her and realizes that it’s not just friendship anymore, still not romance either, but something deep and bright and he’s fucking happy. And she doesn’t call him ‘amor’ but she does call him ‘corazón’ and that’s enough.

He still aches sometimes but so does she, and when he dreams of little countryside houses he no longer feels the longing gripping his chest like a vice.

Amelia doesn’t fill the Six-shaped hole in his heart but that’s okay, she doesn’t need to and Four likes to think that his heart is big enough for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amor means love (but like, mostly romantic love? platonic love is usually 'querer'), corazón means heart


End file.
